


peach scone

by cheble_king



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Background Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Canon-Typical Worms, F/M, Face Punching, Grief/Mourning, Implied Sexual Content, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, One-Sided Attraction, Past Relationship(s), Smoking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Crush, fuck canon i refuse to relisten to 50 some episodes just to get this perfect Okay, jon gets punched and its not as cathartic as tim hoped, mentions of skin peeling, tim stoker is so tired :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23688943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheble_king/pseuds/cheble_king
Summary: he falls in love with a girl, girl already has a boyfriendshe kinda loves him back, but not reallythey're just really good friends, and that's finehe understands, it's rational.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Not Sasha James/Tim Stoker, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	peach scone

"This is -"

Tim swallows thickly, pretending that the recorder Jon brandishes isn't the most _terrifying_ thing he's seen, hands down - and that's something, _isn't it_ , considering Tim watched a mannequin _peel_ his brother's skin off like a _rotten banana peel._

Her voice is so fucking _different_ from the _not-her_ , the not-quite-right _thing_ that wore her like an ill-fitting glove. It's softer and lighter and _warmer_ , and the only record of how she sounds is the fifteen minutes before she fucking _died_.

Because _of course_ it is, because _of course_ the only surviving things in this - this _place_ are long dead statement givers and the living embodiments of humanity's greatest _fears_.

_"Hello - I see you! Show yourself!"_

Sasha's voice - the _real_ Sasha, not that fake not-Sasha _monster_ \- is so crisp and clear, tainted by fear as it comes out tinny and stale from the cheap earbuds plugged into the recorder. It reminds Tim too much of the fake Danny, the not-Danny _thing_ that _danced_ and _laughed_ like a maniacal _clown_.

It reminds Tim of the _circus_ , of _Prentiss_ , of worms digging, _burrowing_ into his skin and forced quarantine and kissing Sasha James in the supply closets of the Archives, spare moments stolen away.

Tim inhales, exhales, feels the blood _pounding_ in his ears, feels hot, _burning_ anger running flush through his veins. Another inhale, exhale, and a moment of clarity comes with the soft crackle of plastic as Tim realizes he's almost broken the tape in half from his too-tight grip. He loosens the stranglehold he has on the device, of course, because having the sounds of her calling out for the -- for the not-her _thing_ is better than having nothing at all.

He punches Jon, because of _course_ he does - why _shouldn't he?_ Jon's the fucking _reason_ they're in this mess, the reason _Sasha-not-Sasha_ was even able to --

Does he even remember how she looks? Or is this - this _not-her_ and her screams all that's left of dearly departed _Sasha James?_

Tim's always had a good arm and a better right hook, so of course he's laid out Jon on the floor, the Archivist staring up at him in horror and confusion - he deserves that, of course, and Martin starts losing his mind as he dashes over, of course, and it's like Sasha had never been killed.

_Almost._

Was it her who kissed him? Who ran her fingers through his hair and laughed when he shot fingerguns at her? Was that the _real_ and _true_ Sasha James?

Or was it the _not-her_ , the beast that wore her skin? Was it that thing, so clever and keen, that took his hand in her own - _its_ own - and whispered _'I love you'_ into the planes of his shoulder?

Tim feels like _screaming_ , like acting out with more than just words, just like fucking _Daisy -_ which is concerning in its own right, considering (from what he's seen and heard) she's _deranged_ on the worst of days and dangerous on the best.

He inhales sharply once more, staring down Jon and Martin, hears Martin ask him _what's happening, what's going on, Tim?_ and it's just so _wrong_ , so unture to the environment - like lemon bitter on the back of his tongue.

He snarls, unintelligible, flips off Jon with a look of distaste - usually he'd have some sort of remark, some snippy, snide little bit of _anger_ to throw at the Archivist, something, _anything_.

But now? Now Tim is drained, exhausted, an empty battery who just wants the cheapest beer a human being can buy and a pack of cigarettes, wants to listen to the few tapes that remain that have her, the real her, on them, wants to kiss the unforgettable Sasha James, wants to see her face just one more time --

He leaves the Archives without pomp or fanfare, glaring the secretary down as she stammers out unimportant questions at his back. He flips off cameras and kicks open doors and then he's standing in the rain, which is fitting.

Because it _should_ be raining, the sky _should_ weep just like Tim does - he starts walking, again, purposeless yet angry, bubbling, _boiling_ , striding past bus stations and cafe's that he can still see the ghost of Sasha in.

Or was it even Sasha?

It's hard to keep track, the memories slip and slide together over time - which is terrifying, because Tim _knew_ her.

And it wasn't just that he _knew_ her - he _loved_ her, got his First at Trinity and met her, kissed her in the backroom of a shitty club not five blocks from his flat, memorized the mole behind her ear, for fuck's sake.

Or did she have a mole behind her ear? Did he kiss her or did he kiss that not-thing _not-Sasha_ behind the old case files two weeks before _Prentiss_ and the goddamn _worms_ \- he can't even remember because he can't even remember what Sasha _fucking_ James actually looked like.

And isn't that a tragedy in its own right?

The beer is tasteless, shittier than what he's used to, and the cigarettes barely light from the damp, but that's alright, Tim supposes - it's better than nothing, after all, because _anything's_ better than nothing, even if it's sitting on a damp chair outside his flat, chain-smoking cigarettes and sipping tasteless beer and _rewinding_ and _replaying_ to the last living moments of Sasha James.

**Author's Note:**

> tma s5 came for my bones so i had to indulge with s2 not!them reveal and tim angst :/


End file.
